


A little girl

by Radiolaria



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/pseuds/Radiolaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara keeps getting lost. Rory keeps getting cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little girl

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Clara + Roman!Rory, waiting 2000 years" at [Clara_who](http://clara-who.livejournal.com/20313.html#comments)

 

“Oh, tell me about her. The woman with the red hair.”

He’s cold. Winter has come and he is alone and cold. And with a cape only. And Amy’s memory.

The Doctor never thought of that, did he? He’s Rory and a thing. He’s cold and immortal.

But never sees the light of day. Never tastes food or water, the sweet coldness of water. But cold and loneliness he tastes.

Under the earth.

“Tell me about her. Your treasure in your funny looking box.”

She’s a little thing really, a little slave girl who got lost under the earth. She’s all big brown eyes and braids, rags and poppies. But it is night and he cannot go out. So he wraps her in his cape and tells her a story.

Not about Amy and the Doctor.

The story of Amelia Pond and Rory Williams and Mels Zucker who would scavenge the only pond in Leadworth for pebbles. And they would pretend they are gems. And set them in an imaginary crown. For Amy to reign over the pond realm.

Mels and Rory would be the guards.

In his words, Amy is a queen, tall and proud, protective and passionate for her people -two mice and a frog really- and Mels a fearless warrior with wild eyes and fire braided in her hair. A spell is cast on the beautiful queen and the warrior is put in prison.

Rory is not of great importance in this story.

“But he is! He is guarding the Queen, isn’t it? She would not choose anybody to do that.”

He looks down, surprised to find her still awake in his arms.

“You know, night will pass in a blink if you go to sleep. You’re safe. I will bring you home tomorrow. It’s too dark now.”

“I know I’m safe. You are guarding the Queen, after all.” She quickly wipes her nose, her tiny hands rushing to find again the warmth of the cape. “I like stories. You can’t just fall asleep in the middle of a good story!”

He feels a smile forming on his lips. Strange. The only thing he had been feeling on his lips for a while until now was the cold. A smile is a nice thing too.

“True.”

All around the torches are creating phantasmagorical shadow play on the irregular walls. She really is not afraid. He is a stranger after all.

“This one is the best one though.”

She snuggled closer, looking up expectantly. Such trust and possible in the eyes. So much like Amy. How he would love a little girl for Amy and him to watch over. Theirs.

But he is the one who waits and will wait for two thousand and twelve years.

“They never parted, you know. Queen Amy. Centurion Rory. Warrior Mels.”

She falls asleep while he tells of Queen Amy and the evil Benny Gang.

In the middle of the night, it strikes him. And he feels like there is more than one story he has been trusted to guard.

Who is Mels?

The Girl that never was. Why does he remember her?

He looks down on the little girl sleeping form. Tiny droplets of humidity are caught in her eyelashes and her fists keep twitching. The dream is wild, dark nights and terrors. She grips the edge of his armour, then unconsciously slides to the arm, fleeing the cold metal for his warm flesh. Her chest slowly rising and falling under the worn fabric. Peaceful. Lost but safe.

Mels keeps flickering out of existence, and then on.

A hundred years into the future, little Clara would get lost again.

And again.

And again.

“That’s me, Clara.”

 “A good Latin name.”

“Why would you say that?” she asked while playing with her Elizabethan dress. Raised to be a servant in a good family probably.

“No reason. Do you want to hear a story?”

And Rory the Centurion would tell the same story. And he would always forget. Because the Doctor never existed. But did. But didn’t.

Like Mels, like the Doctor, Clara would be in and out of his memory. Or rather he would remember it both ways. Maybe she was a dream.  A thing his mind created to keep him from going insane in his loneliness. A little girl to dream about when there seemed to be no future ahead or past behind.

Alone with memories that were not his, while his were shifting around.

“Why did you hide in here? The Museum won’t open until the morning.”

“I got lost. I thought it was safe.  My Gameboy doesn’t seem to work. Oh, that’s fine. You’re probably better than this machine. Do you know any stories?”

She is lost. And he is cold. Better not fall asleep in the middle of the story then.

Amy behind him in that box is there, the only constant, solid and cold. His reality. A harsh one, a lonely one, a disillusioned one.

But there. Definitely there. 


End file.
